Skeletons are single because they have no body
by LovelyLovelessInDenial
Summary: Sans was done with dating. He was well and truly done with girls, who only dated him for the novelty of dating a skeleton, not because they liked him or were attracted to him. It didn't matter that a pretty girl literally fell into his lap and kept shattering all his expectations, because he was not up for having his heart broken again. SansxFrisk, (not really a) highschool AU
1. Chapter 1

A/N: this is dirty. This is going to involve the bonezone. I am trash, sans is shy, frisk is a manic pixie dream girl, what more could you possibly need?

* * *

Skeletons are single because they have no body.

* * *

Sans had given up. He really had, and he knew for sure, no doubt, 100%, that it was for the best. Sans had given up. And now he could be happy.

Because really, who needs a girlfriend to be happy? That's just weak. And of all the things Sans was, is, and will ever be, he is not weak. So he'd be alone, he'd go to bed alone and satisfy his own needs because he could and it would be better than this. He'd stop pretending someone could find him attractive, _especially_ sexually attractive because he was a _skeleton_. And skeletons aren't attractive. Skeletons are things you date for the novelty, so you can go and titter to your friends about how interesting you were and they'd titter back about the 'bonezone' and you'd screech 'No! No no, never! Ew!'

All within hearing distance of said skeleton, of course.

And so Sans gave up, and it really wasn't anything to be sad over because it was his own dumb fault to think anyone could be attracted to a skeleton, a literal bag of bones. No heart, no pulse, only hard calcium and sharp edges.

And then, no warning or anything, he was crushed into the ground and quite rudely broken out of his train of thought. His eyes clenched shut against the pain, even as someone was cussing profusely in front of him, or actually, probably on top of him because he was still being smushed into the dirt.

They were scrambling off of him, and he chanced a glance at his assailant. It was a girl, a pretty girl, and if he hadn't just sworn off dating literally two seconds ago he might've fancied this to be the cliche start to a cliche love story.

They looked down at him, warm brown eyes wide. Then they smiled, eyes squinting shut as their face almost broke in two at the expense of their grin.

"Hi! Sorry to have to meet you like this, I'm Frisk!" She introduced herself while clambering up. A hand was shoved in his face, and he took it; surprise washing over him as he was forcefully yanked up, so hard his feet left the ground.

"Wow, you're as light as you look!" Her eyes twinkled with laughter, and he vaguely wondered if she was making fun of him.

"I keep telling everyone I'm just big- _boned_." He winked, though it changed to a look of surprise as she actually laughed.

"Y'know, you still haven't introduced yourself." At her prompt, he fidgeted.

"I'm Sans. Sans the _bone_ head."

"Huh, I've heard of you. Nice to finally meet in the _flesh_." She giggles while Sans stares, clearly unimpressed. "That was pretty bad, huh?"

Before he can ask what exactly she's heard about him, she's glancing up, her short brown hair following the motion in a halo. "Gotta go! It was nice meeting you!"

And then she was running off, faster than sans had ever seen a human run. "Uh... Bye." He said at her receding figure.

And then he was back to his last train of thought, as quickly as it had ended.

'Who'd ever want to bone a skeleton?'

* * *

He hadn't expected to see Frisk again. He really hadn't, with a school of 13,000 and no classes with the brown-haired girl, the chances they would meet again were minimal. So he pushed the thought to the back of his mind and went on with life.

When he went home that day, Papyrus seemed to know he was in a bad mood, and he did what he could to help. Which, in Papyrus's case, was make spaghetti.

It's the thought that counts.

The next few days of school he avoided his friends like the plague, unwilling to be the victim of their pity. They meant well, sure, all of them were decent, caring people but he was in no mood to be doted on.

So that's how he found himself alone, sitting in the same secluded corner as when Frisk quite literally crashed into his life.

"I was thinking I'd find you here!" It would make sense he'd meet her in the exact same place the second time, right?

"You were looking for me?" Confusion erased all other thoughts, even pun-related thoughts.

"Yeah, Undyne sent me out since none of them could find you." He sighed. So his friends had been looking for him. Guilt welled up in his ribcage.

She whipped out her phone and sent out a quick message, no doubt assuring Undyne he'd been found.

That was his cue. He felt guilty, but not guilty enough to actually talk to them. While getting up, he tried to explain, "Sorry, I'm not up for talking to-"

"I just told them you were safe." She cut him off. "They were worried, you know?"

He grimaced.

"Now tell Frisk what's been bugging ya." She commanded, winking.

"If I'm not going to talk to my friends, I'd be a real bonehead to talk to a stranger."

Turning away and shrugging, she sighs. "It was worth a try."

He finds he doesn't want her to leave. So when she turns around lazily and inquires, "You coming?" He is embarrassed to say he scurries right after.

"Where are we going?" He quizzes.

"On a walk." Is all she says, frustrating him a decent bit.

They head to the nearest park, a large ordeal that was more nature preserve than park. Out in front was a nice cream stand, and his companion stopped and asked for one. To be honest, he wasn't paying all that much attention as a flock of pretty blue and red birds had landed near them.

So it wasn't surprising that he was stunned when a nice cream got shoved in his face.

"Hey-what? You don't have to-" But Frisk was already walking down the path leisurely, paying no attention to him.

He hurried to catch up, and when he did he demanded, "Let me pay you back."

Frisk glanced over at him, nice cream in mouth, and simply shook their head.

He glared at the nice cream in his hand. Memories of the last time he'd displayed his magic tongue to someone played in his head. Their reaction was not favorable, to say the least, and as much as he was done with relationships he'd rather Frisk not think him disgusting so soon after meeting him.

So he bit down on the frozen treat. And immediately regretted it.

Owwww.

He noticed Frisk staring at him, a very amused expression on their face. He matched it with a glare, but that only caused the corners of their mouth to quirk up higher.

"I know about your tongue Sans. Wouldn't that be a lot easier?" He gaped, then grimaced. His ex was just the loveliest person. Of course she'd tell everyone about how absolutely disgusting he was. He could feel all his magic rushing to his face, and was powerless to stop it.

"Oh wow, your face is... Blue? You blush blue?" He had enough. This was the first time someone had become his friend just to make fun of him, and he was not going to have any of it.

"I'm leaving." He spat out while turning, determinedly making his way to a shortcut he could sense not far from there.

"Hey!" He heard Frisk yelp behind him. "Wait!" Haha, nope. Not gonna stick around for your mean mind games.

And suddenly he was being pushed on the ground, a heavy and somewhat familiar sensation on top of him. The rest of his nice cream had been flung somewhere, and Frisk's was nowhere in sight. What was definitely in sight was her face, inches from his.

Despite his best intentions, he felt his face flush again. He determinedly looked away as he struggled, which was stopped as she gathered up his wrists and pushed them above his head. He gulped. If everything else wasn't enough to scare somebody away, his strange fetishes were more than enough. Fetishes of dominance and submission, fetishes Frisk was unknowingly playing right into with their compromising position.

At least they'd made it far enough into the forest that was this park that they were alone.

"A bit sensitive, aren't we?" She asked, breath hot against his face.

"I have reason to be." He stated, trying so hard to keep the tremor out of his voice.

"Your ex is a bit of a bitch."

"Understatement of the century. But it's not just her. It's all the girls. They all find out I'm disgusting. So I'm done dating." Without even realizing it, he had given her what she wanted. He couldn't believe his biggest problem had just flowed right through his non-existent lips.

He thought he saw something in her eyes, some kind of reaction to his words, but then she's talking again. "Well, from what you've shown me, I think it's cool."

The hand holding her up changes it's purpose to touching his cheek, leaving her entire body prone against him. It makes him blush even more, something he hadn't realized was a possibility.

"Wow. You're warm."

"S'magic." He manages to get out.

"See? That's cool as shit." She's smiling, and it looks genuine, and he relaxes the slightest bit. "I might've had the slightest bit of an ulterior motive behind buying you nice cream. I wanted to see your tongue. Can I?"

He gulps. As much as he was resisting, a certain other appendage was slowly forming against his will, and if she stayed on top of him much longer she would become very aware of said appendage.

"If you get off of me." He bargains, seeing no other option.

She releases his wrists and rolls off of him, onto the soft grass. He sits up as she does, gives a shy glance towards her, and begins to take his sweet time forming his tongue.

She's extraordinarily patient, and soon he just can't stall anymore. He opens his mouth, letting his glowing blue tongue fall out between his fangs.

She gasps, and he flinches away.

"Oh!" She gasps at his action. "Sorry, sorry, it's just. It's cool. I think it's pretty neat."

He glances at her to see the most earnest expression his eyes have ever been privy to, and relaxes the slightest bit.

"Um, uh, well, you can totally say no but I just gotta ask," she pauses for a deep breath. "Could I, uh, touch."

He openly stares for a good minute before slowly nodding. Hesitantly, oh so hesitantly, she reaches toward his tongue and rests a digit on it. She trails her hand up to a fang, then down to a counterpart, then back to his tongue.

"Wow." She whispers out.

Sans has never seen someone look at him with so much awe. His face blushes even more, and she gazes at his entire face and repeats it. "Wow."

As soon as her fingers leave he dissipates his tongue and looks away. "Well, I certainly felt that in my bones." He facepalms as soon as the words leave his mouth, picking up on a dirty double meaning just a bit too late.

Giggles burst from the girl in front of him, and as though it's some kind of contagious disease, he starts laughing as well. They fall back on the ground and once their laughter dies down they talk of everything and nothing all at once.

When the sun starts setting, Frisk peels herself off the ground and offers a hand to Sans. "C'mon, I'll walk you home."

"Shouldn't it be the other way around?" He questions as he's pulled off the ground.

She looks genuinely confused as she replies with an uncertain "No?" So he drops it.

He leads the way to his compact two-story house, vaguely wondering if he'll have to introduce her to Papyrus. The thought sends a chill throughout him. As much as he loved his brother, which he really truly did, he couldn't help but fear his brothers... Overbearing attitude would be the final straw to send Frisk away.

Not that he cared in any extreme way or anything. He just liked having new friends. That was all.

He got his answer when the door was enthusiastically thrown open as they were mere feet from it. He sighed as the taller skeleton started sprinted towards him, and didn't even struggle as he was lifted in a spinning bear hug. Once he was set down, he turned his gaze to Frisk, as well as he could with the world spinning.

"This is my brother. Papyrus."

"HELLO HUMAN I AM THE GREAT PAPYRUS I AM SURE YOU ARE VERY PLEASED TO MEET ME."

"Uh, yeah, it's astounding to be in your presence?" Frisk trails off, obviously uncertain on how to deal with this situation.

"WOWIE! SUCH AN INTELLIGENT HUMAN! YOU SIMPLY MUST COME IN FOR SPAGHETTI!" Papyrus spews. Sans can't help but facepalm, but when Frisk looks to him for guidance he just shrugs.

"That sounds lovely."

Sans felt compelled to facepalm again.

* * *

Papyrus had bustled off into the kitchen to prepare his "famous, gold medal winning, extraordinary, scrumdidilyumtious spaghetti of the gods!" Leaving Sans alone with Frisk in the living room.

"So, uh, this is awkward." Sans states, more to break the silence than for any real conversational purposes.

"You're brother is quite a character."

Sans laughs, a little too loudly. "Yeah, yeah, um if you want to leave I can make up an excuse for you."

"Never said I didn't like him, did I?" She questions, tone teasing.

He gulps, uncomfortable that he had assumed the worst of her. She'd done nothing but prove him wrong this whole time.

"I like your house. It's cozy." She was glancing around, and Sans suddenly felt self conscious. How long had it been since he cleaned his room?

Her face broke him out of his self-induced panic, her expression was bordering on wistful and it was a dramatic change from her normal smirks and grins. It was even a far cry from the face she'd shown him when she asked to touch his tongue... His face flushed at the thought.

Luckily, the spaghetti was ready and Papyrus interrupted his thoughts by announcing so.

As soon as the human had the first bite in their mouth, Papyrus yelled, "HUMAN, DO YOU LIKE THE SPAGHETTI PAINSTAKINGLY MADE FOR YOU?!"

Frisk smiled and gave a thumbs up, rendered mute by the spaghetti in said girls mouth. He couldn't help it, he _stared_.

He hadn't been aware there were people who could eat Papyrus's spaghetti without spitting it out or throwing up.

The rest of the dinner past with Papyrus bombarding poor Frisk with compliments of himself and other personal trivia. To her credit, Frisk took it all in stride, nodding and laughing in all the right places.

When Papyrus finally seemed to peter out, it was dark. "HUMAN! I COMMAND THAT YOU STAY THE NIGHT, THE GREAT PAPYRUS WILL NOT HAVE YOU WALKING HOME ALONE IN THE DARK."

She looked to him again, and once again he shrugged. Her decision. He didn't care. In the slightest. At all.

"Sure, I'd love to." The fact his non-existent heart swelled at her answer made no difference, none at all.

"GREAT! HUMAN, I AM SORRY TO INFORM YOU THAT IT IS NOW THE GREAT PAPYRUS'S BEDTIME. I'M SURE YOU CAN UNDERSTAND IT TAKES A LOT OF SLEEP TO BE THIS GREAT." Papyrus turns to him, and he sighed at what he knew was coming. "SANS, MY BEDTIME STORY?"

Sans sighed, and turned to the human as he was following Papyrus out of the room. "Feel free to watch some TV. Try not to get too _bonely_ without me okay?" He winked.

Frisk giggled, and he basked in the noise and the fact it was him who made it.

* * *

After Papyrus had drifted off into his usual deep sleep, Sans hurried down the stairs. Disappointment flooded him when he saw that Frisk had fallen asleep with the TV on. He had been hoping to talk with them more, but that just didn't seem like it would happen.

He sighed and flicked the TV off before climbing the stairs to his own room.

He could deal.

He threw off his jacket and slippers, but didn't bother with anything else before climbing under his covers.

His eyes slipped shut, and after a decent while of tossing and turning, darkness overcame him.

* * *

There were faces and screams but the faces were blocked out and the screams were garbled and somehow, someway, he knew Papyrus was dead.

Papyrus was dead.

Papyrus was _dead_.

PapyruswasdeadPapyruswasdeadPapyruswasdeadPapyruswasdeadPapyruswasdead.

PAPYRUS WAS DEAD.

He was screaming, but the screaming around him didn't change so he must've already been screaming and there was _blackblackblack_ and then there was a face.

A real, clear face.

And as it split in two, laughter filled the air and drowned out his screaming.

Eyes flung open, but ohgodohgod he was still dreaming because the face, the murderous face, the dirty brother killer was inches from him.

Before he knew it, the face, and consequently the body attached to it, was flung into the opposite wall of his bedroom, _hard_.

Their figure slumped into a heap on the ground as Sans gasped and tried to regain his wits.

"Well-* _huff*_ \- that was quite the wake up call." The figure gasps out.

The voice.

He knew that voice.

Oh god.

He flung himself out of bed, getting tangled in the blanket and falling on the floor. After that he was by them in an instant, tilting their head up so he could look at their face.

"Ohgodohgod oh _god_ I am so sorry so so _so_ sorry oh god."

A shaky hand reached for his chin, tilting it up so he was looking in her eyes. He dreaded what he would find there, hatred, disgust, bitter- oh.

Her eyes glittered in pain, that much he had expected, but they were also soft and caring and he didn't quite know how to handle that.

"It's okay, it's okay. Just breathe, I forgive you." His breath caught at the ease of her acceptance. "I'm no stranger to bad dreams, and that sounded like a doozy."

"Oh god, I'm still, I'm so so sorry um um." He stuttered. "Uh, could you- do you think you can, uh, turn around?"

She tilted her head but followed through with his request, hissing in pain.

He placed his bony, hard hands on her back and took a second to marvel at the softness and warmth he found there. And then he started to send sparks through her, healing the damage he had caused. The human sighed peacefully, which he took as a good sign.

When she was fully well again, he stopped and sighed. Healing was never his forte, and exhaustion dragged at him.

The thought of sleeping was a thought he dreaded.

He sighed. There really was no helping it, sleep was a necessity, even for skeletons.

"I understand if you don't want to be around me after this." He muttered, upset at the very idea.

"Are you kidding? It was a mistake. You healed me. That was cool. And-" To his astonishment, she scooped him up in her arms. "It looks like you need someone."

Too dumbfounded to protest, he let her gently lay him down on the bed. He gaped when she sat next to him, and if it wasn't connected by the magic that flowed through him, his jaw would've completely separated when she trailed her soft fingers down his arm bones.

"So, is this why you're always so tired?" She asked.

He sensed a pun afoot, but really, now was not the time. Instead he nodded, not trusting his voice in the slightest.

She continued to trail her fingers up and down his arm, across his clavicle and down this other arm.

"You don't have to touch me y'know." He chokes out.

"Do you not want me to?" She asks, her hand stilling right on his.

"I don't want you to force yourself to touch me just cause you feel bad." He explains, looking at the ground instead of her. He fully expects her to pull away.

And she does.

Looks like she was done surprising him.

But then the bed is shifting, and he looks over just in time to see her sprawling out next to him. A hand is lazily flung over his ribcage, and he starts as it stroke the bones through his shirt.

"Whaa-?" She was obviously not done surprising him.

"Wake me up if it happens again. I'll be right here." She murmurs, face alarmingly close to his ear hole.

"Wait, but-" His brain was short circuiting, jaw flopping about even though he could think of nothing to say.

"Don't even try to get rid of me." She warned. "It won't work."

He rolled over to face her, and her hand adjusted, rubbing circles on his back. "Go to sleep." She whispered at him.

His breathing choked up, and he knew if he had a heart it would be attempting to escape his chest. Even so, he did, easily. The soothing circles she traced on his back and the sound of her breathing were enough for him to be willed into a deep sleep.

Deep enough he didn't hear her when she whispered, "What if I want to touch you?"


	2. Highschool AU's are boring anyway

A/N: there's actually some plot in this chapter. This wasn't how it was supposed to go, but you know what? I like it better. You guys should totally review with constructive criticism or guesses as to what is happening in the story n stuff. Until next time!

* * *

When Sans woke up, he was distinctly warmer than usual. He was also distinctly more comfortable than usual, and it was also distinctly morning.

The morning part was odd as he generally gave up on sleep while it was still dark, and waited in bed until it was late enough he could go and get himself some coffee without having nothing to do for hours, or causing Papyrus any unnecessary worry.

But there was definitely light spilling into his room from an uncovered window, so he turned his attention to the clock.

6:53. Huh.

There was still a good while until he actually had to leave for school, and considering he could get ready in 10 minutes if need be, he wasn't all that concerned.

What he was concerned about was the hot breath he just felt ghost across his neck. So he reacted how any normal person would to waking up with someone in their bed when there should be no one in their bed.

He flipped the fuck out.

Sans tried to wiggle and flail his way out of the situation, but his legs were tangled in what he was almost entirely sure were other legs, and what he identified as arms were wrapped tightly around him, just below his ribcage.

It was honestly really comfy but WHOTHEFUCK-

His flailing and general panicking was cut off by a face nuzzling into the crook between his neck vertebrae and his clavicle. It was such an intimate gesture, from someone his panicked and fatigued brain could only identify as STRANGERSTRANGERSTRANGER that he could feel his face heating up to a bright shade of cyan.

A murmur reached his ears, but it just sounded like a bunch of 'S's' slurred together in an incoherent jumble.

His face became even bluer as he renewed his efforts to get _out_ , but they proved futile as the arms around his spine tightened.

He stilled and sighed. If brawn wasn't working, then try brains?

He could try to use his magic, but with the death grip currently around him, he doubted they'd be going anywhere he wouldn't.

But that really brought up the question of who _the fuck_ was spooning him?

He tried to think back, last night- oh! The nightmare. Frisk. Frisk?

It was Frisk. It was definitely Frisk.

Oh god.

His struggles renewed, his half-asleep mind panicking at the thought of her waking and changing her mind about- well, everything.

Waking to hard bones stabbing you can't ever be a good thing. Not to mention she'll remember him freaking _hurling_ her into a wall last night.

Maybe she'll think he tried something?

Oh god.

Oh god.

"Frisk!" He stage whispered.

He froze immediately as he felt her nuzzle deeper into the crook between his neck and shoulder blades. If he hadn't been so sure that it _hadn't_ happened, he would've sworn a sleepy kiss was pressed to his neck vertebrae. "Jus' five more minuhhs?"

"Frisk!" This time he actually yelled, a desperate squeal stemming from the panic flooding through him. It was way too early for this and he was just completely unprepared and frazzled and _gahhhhh_.

to his complete bewilderment, she sprung up immediately at that; ending up crouched in a low position that looked distinctly threatening. A bright gleam drew his eyes to her hand, in which a humongous butchers knife was clasped tightly.

What?

 _What?_

"What?!" She echoed his thoughts, thankfully not sounding angry, just anxious.

He didn't reply, eyes fixated on both the knife and her face. She was looking around frantically, hair flailing out wildly from her head, poised to attack.

But the only thing here was him.

This is why he stopped dating. Well, maybe not this _exact_ reason but it really never turned out well when he got close to females.

None had ever actually stabbed him before, but there was a first time for everything.

And a Frisk was sure full of first times.

Speaking of said female, she was gazing at him, her face going through a myriad of confused emotions. Perplexed, confuzzled, mystified, muddled, it was all there. There was also a dash of hurt and guilt, and really it was far too early decipher the whys or what's or really anything.

Suddenly, realization washed over her face, and she eyed him speculatively.

"Uh, sorry. That must've been weird." Understatement of the century. The knife in her grasp was huge, where the heck had she even been hiding it? Who the heck carries around a giant butchers knife? "I wouldn't ever stab you, I promise, you just scared me."

"Uh, yeah. Ditto." Okay, that might not have made perfect sense. It really was too early for coherent thought. "Um, school starts in about an hour. If you want, you can take a shower, I'll make breakfast." He deemed normalcy would be the best way to handle this, and maybe he'd figure it out further after a long, hot shower and some coffee.

"Uh, actually I think I'm going to head home." She explains, the slightest bit too fast. "See you around!"

Before a syllable could even drop from his mouth she was gone.

He sighed and crawled back in bed. Really, this morning was way too eventful to even consider staying awake.

He ended up being woken up 5 minutes before he had to go by a very angry Papyrus. Thus, he was late, got scolded, and proceeded to not care as usual. He'd punned the teacher about being a bonehead, plopped down in his seat, and rested his head on the desk for the entirety of that day.

During lunch he sat at his hidey-hole, not really feeling the need to hide. He actually wasn't quite sure why he was there, but thoughts of a certain brown haired human kept floating through his mind.

But he wasn't there on the off chance she'd show up.

She didn't anyway, so it didn't matter.

* * *

The whole weekend was filled with Frisk related inquiries, and really, he ended up with more questions than when he started.

Why did she look so much like the face in his nightmare?

Why was she so comfortable with him?

Where the actual fuck had that knife come from?

Even Papyrus, with his ever present unawareness picked up that something was wrong, and as such he stumbled through the whole weekend trapped in a shower of spaghetti.

That's what it felt like at least.

Toriel, Undyne and Alphys actually showed up at his house on Sunday, and they spent a good few hours catching up on their latest anime obsession with him. It was a nice distraction, but as soon as they left he was plunged back into his confusion.

Monday came and went in much the same way.

So did Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday.

He was at the point where he'd be ripping out his hair if he had any. Amongst the list of questions were now:

Why had he never gotten her number?

Why had he not asked where she lived?

Why did he not know any of her classes? Or what grade she was in?

Or anything that would make it so he could talk to her?

It got so bad that on Friday, he actually went to the lunchroom and found his friends instead of skulking in his corner, just to ask them if they knew anything.

"Oh, F-Frisk? I have ph-physics with her, she was here W-Wednesday I t-t-think but she's been gone the rest of the w-week." Was the only meaningful reply he got, from Alphys. He carefully filed away the information. Alphys was in AP physics, so Frisk was intelligent, or at least a science nerd.

He mentally cursed himself. He had been planning on taking AP physics this year, but his laziness had won out as he hadn't actually needed to take any science class.

Physics was before lunch, so Frisk wasn't here today. He grumbled at this, but sat down and humored his friends with small talk anyway. His mind barely strayed from the brown-haired girl though, and he cursed himself over his obsession.

The only way to placate his mind was to convince himself it was just because she was so damn _weird_ , and that he definitely wasn't attracted to her or anything of the sort.

* * *

Another weekend passed with no sign of Frisk. Forecast: spaghetti showers. Staying indoors recommended.

* * *

He tried to play it off when he accompanied Undyne as she walked Alphys to physics on Monday, but he could tell from their smirks that it was a futile attempt.

He wasn't even rewarded for his embarrassment, as Frisk didn't show up. He was also late for his next class, something he didn't quite care about.

"Yeah, I'm a real numbskull, huh?" He winked at the disapproving teacher. They disapproved.

The class after that though, English, was where his day took a dramatic turn.

He had been staring out the window as usual, paying no attention because English (and school in general) was freaking easy and even if it was hard he would've been daydreaming.

When the door was literally slammed open, and the subject of his thoughts just waltzed right in as though they hadn't been tormenting him for more than a week.

"Ayy, I'm gonna need to borrow Sans." Her voice filled the whole room, and he could sense every eye on him. Anxiousness and anticipation filled his ribcage as the old and exhausted looking teacher glanced at Frisk.

"Do as you must." Was her curt answer.

Frisk turned and gazed expectantly at him, a wide smile on their face. He could feel himself blushing from all the attention, even as he grimaced and shoved all his stuff into his backpack.

He followed Frisk into the hall, letting out a sigh of relief when the door cut off the curious gazes of his classmates.

The relief was soon replaced with all the words he wanted to scream at her, while she was just walking down the hall without a care in the world.

"So do you have any explanation for me?" He snapped at her after a few seconds of silence.

Her gaze was perplexed when she laid it on him, and her mouth flapped uselessly for a good few seconds. "Umm? I'm on the planning committee for homecoming and I needed your help?"

She said it like a question, and it made his temper rise. She _knew_ that wasn't what he was asking.

"No! I want an explanation for... For..." He trailed off, because honestly there was a lot he wanted to know and words were just too slow. "For why you fucking cuddled me after I _threw_ you against a wall, pulled a knife out of thin air in the morning and then disappeared for a week!"

"Uh... Oh." She lamely retorted. Her amber eyes shifted around before settling back on him. "Maybe we should go somewhere more private?" Her grin didn't reach her eyes.

When he followed her lead and glanced about, he caught the stares of a decent amount of people. Oh.

Maybe not the best thing to be screaming in a school corridor.

"Yeah, let's do that."

* * *

They didn't talk on the way to his hidey-hole, but once they were there he surveyed her expectantly.

"Okay, well..." She started, then trailed off. "There's... Well."

He tapped his foot impatiently.

"I... I really can't actually tell you much." She murmured, tone slightly disappointed.

He groaned. "Really? _Really_?"

"Yeah, um." She shifted uncomfortably. She hadn't looked this timid since he met her, and something twitched in his nonexistent heart. "You have to figure it out yourself."

He stared at her, dumbfounded. "Figure it out? **Figure it out?!** I'm supposed to figure out how you materialized a knife from thin air?"

She chuckled nervously, the sound oddly familiar. "N-Not exactly."

He fumed in silence for a good minute. She didn't look up from the ground.

"Um." She started, sounding heartbreakingly unsure of herself. "I can tell you... I can tell you that I like you. I like you a lot. I can't explain to you how much I like you right now, because it will sound crazy and you won't want anything to do with me, but know that you're so intensely important to me. So important I can't handle it."

"Why did you just up and disappear for a week then?!" He bellowed, his anger reluctant to diminish.

"I-um... That was also because you're important to me. It, uh, strays too far into stuff I can't tell you."

"How are you so sure I'll figure it out?" He ground out.

"Um, well. You always have before?"

His eyes widened. "I always have before? Before? When the fuck is before?"

She giggles nervously, and he starts to wonder if it's her go-to coping mechanism. "Uh, yeah about that... I can't tell you."

He groans. "Okay, is there anything, _anything_ at all you can tell me? Something to maybe make me feel less like the butt of some huge joke."

"Um, well. If you stick around me long enough, I promise you'll realize everything. Y-You don't have to though.. Uh, I'm sure this is pretty hard to stomach." She stops, as though she wants to point out the joke so easily made there, but she doesn't. "And, uh. I would never, _ever_ do anything to hurt you. Never. Not in a billion years."

Her voice, her eyes, her body language, it's all sincere.

But **goddamn** he was dissatisfied.

"Uh, should I just... Go? I'll leave you alone if you want. You never have to see me again, if that would make you happy."

"This is both a lot and far too little to take in all at once." For some reason, she giggles, but he continues because if he stops now he'll probably stop forever. "Can we talk more tomorrow?"

She shrugs helplessly. "When?"

"Get me outta English again. I hate that class." And then he's walking away, away from her and the school and all his friends because fuck today.

* * *

He avoids Papyrus, going as far as to climb in his window to steer clear of his overbearing brother.

Climbing into bed, he resolves to absolutely not think about anything and just let sleep take him.

It works, for a while, until he wakes up kicking and screaming, and there's Papyrus wondering why he's home and Sans can't help but remember how peacefully he slept in her arms.

How gently she held him.

How even after he threw her into a wall she just wanted to help.

How he threw her into the wall because he has recurring nightmares she (?) killed his brother.

How she fucking pulled a knife out of NOWHERE in the morning.

He actually growls at Papyrus, and right before he leaves Sans catches a look of betrayal in his eyes.

Fuck.

He crawls under his blankets and rolls into a burrito of sadness because that's really the only way to handle this.

* * *

The rest of the day passes at some point, and then the night, and he somehow got to school. He's sitting in his desk, in English and anticipation rocks through him, but at the same time he is so tired. If sleep was normally hard for him, last night it was downright arduous.

His head is down on the desk, even the window proving to be incompetent as a distraction.

And then he hears the door open. Anticipation twists like spiders in his non-existent gut.

"Stealing Sans again." Is all she says, and a noncommittal grunt is all she earns.

He has all his stuff packed up, and all the stares only evoke a sense of déjà vu compared to the incoming doom he's feeling while walking towards her.

They fall in step as they walk out the door, but as soon as it clicks behind them she stops. Her hand shoots out towards him, and it proves that she really could've killed him anytime she wanted, had that been her goal, when all he does is gape at her.

The very second her fingers brushed him, he felt a surge of _very_ familiar magic. A split second of vertigo, and then they're standing in his hidey hole, and if he was gaping at her stupidly before his jaw has now fallen off onto the ground.

"W-What?" He questions stupidly.

"Didn't want to wait." She shrugs, but that really wasn't answering the question he was asking. She continues before he can stutter out a syllable. "So, do you want anything to do with me?" He's prepared to corner her and question her about how the hell she just used his magic, because as far as he knows that's extraordinarily IMPOSSIBLE. His eyes pick up subtle tremors in her clenched fists though, and she's nibbling on her lip so hard it starts leaking blood.

He sighs, a sense of defeat washing over him. Seeing Frisk like that was really unacceptable to his soul. Explanations could wait, right now she needed an answer. He had really decided a long time ago, hadn't he? "Yeah, yeah I'd like to stay with you. I just... This is way over my head isn't it?"

As soon as the affirmative drops from his mouth, she smiles a smile that could compete with the sun. "Right now, yeah. Think of it as a blessing."

"Right..." He trails off, uncertainty clouding his mind. She looked so happy though. He suddenly feels exhausted, his eyelids droop dangerously and he has to adjust his stance to prevent himself from ending up sprawled on the floor.

Before he's able to get steadied again, she's wrapped her arms around him in a gentle and stabilizing hug. He finds himself sinking into it, into her warmth and support, exhaustion finally winning against anxiety.

"I'm sorry." She whispers in his ear as he slumps onto her. "Want to take a nap at my house?"

He sighs an agreement, and vaguely wonders how much sleep he had actually gotten. Two hours? Three? Funny how you can lay in bed so long and sleep so little.

He lets out an undignified and frankly embarrassing noise when his feet leave the ground, and all his magic rushes to his face as he realizes Frisk is now holding him, bridal style.

"H-Hey I could just teleport us?" He suggests, voice shaky.

"Now way, you're already way too tired." She argues, her tone suggesting she wouldn't hear any of his arguments.

His jaw opens, preparing to pun at her about his legs being bonely, but then he realizes they're moving. _Fast_. It was probably for the best, as that particular pun wasn't exactly top tier material.

But they were really moving fast, like really really fast, like inhumanly fast, and they make it to what he assumes is her house in seconds.

"What?" He chokes out. There was really a lot to Frisk that made no fucking sense, and the fact she just winked at him for an explanation _wasn't_ helping.

He was set down as she pulled out keys, and with grace he'd never seen someone opening a door with before she unlocks it.

"So a bonehead like me is going to understand all this soon?"

"Aw." She's inviting him inside now, holding the door open. "You're the smartest person I know, don't give me any of that bonehead shit."

He grumbles at her not-answer. She giggles as she leads him into her living room, which is small and almost empty. There's a T.V. There's a couch. That's it.

"I promise you'll figure everything out, probably much sooner than you think." She turns and regards him. "So, do you want the couch or my bed?"

"Uhh, I'll take the couch."

She smirks and shakes her head, almost... Fondly? "Of course you'll take the couch. "

She'd disappears through the only door besides the front door, and he looks around. A counter separates the kitchen from the living room, a kitchen that looks just a bare as the living room.

A blanket monstrosity emerges from the door, and he gazes at it with suspicion as it wobbles over to him. A pile of blankets and pillows is unceremoniously dropped on him, and he mutters a thanks as he settles into the couch.

She goes into the kitchen and fiddles with some stuff. His exhaustion causes him to simply sink further into the couch, as opposed to watching her. Just as his eyes are slipping closed, she returns, a mug in her grasp with whipped cream piled on top of it.

"Hot chocolate." She explains. He wonders if she knows hot chocolate is his second favorite drink. He hopes she doesn't know the first is ketchup.

He contemplates staying comfy and warm vs drinking the liquid gold, before finally deciding the liquid gold was quite worth it.

Contrary to popular opinion, skeletons could actually taste just as well as any human. And the hot chocolate tasted really, really good. Thick, rich creamy, it was great.

What wasn't great was his head practically splitting open in pain. He dropped the mug on the floor, it shattered on impact. Lights and colors flashed before his eyes, slowly petering out into a slideshow he could understand. Mugs of hot chocolate, all with a whipped cream mountain topping it. His tongue burned from it, all the richness of hundreds, maybe even thousands of mugs washing over it at once.

He screamed and clawed at his head until suddenly, the pain passed. Frisk was right there, rubbing his back in soothing circles. He collapsed onto her, exhausted eyes trailing over the mess he had made.

"I'm so sorry." He drawls out, even as he can feel his eyes slipping closed. "You've made me this before?" She nods and smiles.

And then, he slips into sleep.

It's peaceful, for once.


	3. Love can't fix everything

He wasn't entirely sure what, if anything, had pulled him from sleep; at least it wasn't a nightmare like usual. He certainly wasn't in his room, or anywhere in his house, though he wasn't panicking.

Just gotta remember what happened - oh.

Oh, that happened.

Random memories floated in his brain, hot chocolate, hot chocolate with sprinkles, hot chocolate with marshmallows, hot chocolate with - well, you get the point.

So much hot chocolate. But from when? Was the hot chocolate laced with something to make him think he'd had it before? What would even do that? Why would she even do that?

Maybe the psychosis he had always felt lurking over his shoulder had finally decided this was how it was going to present itself; Through memories of hot chocolate.

All those theories seemed a bit too far fetched, but when could he even have had that many cups of hot chocolate?

All this thinking right when he woke up was instigating a headache, so he decided to focus on easier things.

Like the time. And if coffee was available.

Yeah.

He started pushing himself up, when he noticed a mop of messy brown hair leaning on the couch next to his legs. It was Frisk of course, who else would it be? (A murderous, red-eyed face flashes in his brain for a second. Just a second.)

She's asleep, face peaceful. She's really very cute, and he has the urge to stroke her hair, maybe caress her face.

He won't though. He's not like that, and there are boundaries here somewhere; Sans is terrified of somehow crossing them. So instead he looks around for a clock, and when none appears he deems the window good enough.

The sun is low in the sky, it's almost evening. He has nowhere to be, but he really should call Papyrus. Making his sweet lil cinnamon roll of a brother worry always made him feel sick.

When he left the window, the first thing he noticed were large amber eyes staring at him. She hadn't moved at all otherwise, but her eyes examined him so intensely he couldn't help but fidget.

"Do you feel alright?" She asked, voice concerned.

"Yeah.. Um... Yeah..." Really, he wasn't at all sure what to say. Ask more questions he probably wouldn't get answers to?

"I called Papyrus and told him you were spending the night. You don't have to, of course, I just didn't know how long you were going to be out, and I didn't want him to worry." Relief and gratitude flows through him at her words.

"Thanks. I appreciate it." He sighed. "I'm guessing none of my questions will get answers?"

She looks apologetic. "No, but at least you know why now? If just remembering hot chocolate made you feel like that and pass out, imagine what everything would do? It has to come naturally. Slowly."

He grimaced, his brain echoing the pain that had previously been too much for his body. "We know each other though." She gives him a look and he corrects himself. "We've known each other."

Her mouth is pressed in a straight line, but it's enough to give him an answer. "You still know me. How well do you know me? How much could you know?"

She smirks, but it carries no malice. "Didn't we just go over the fact that asking questions is pointless?"

He grumbles, but drops it. Still, there was a niggling thought present front and center in his mind. What had they been to each other?

He examined Frisk not-so-surreptitiously. If he was right, it would be great. If he was wrong... It would be pretty far from great. He sighed, exhausted although he just woke up.

"Do you have any coffee?" He sighed out, fully aware that had been two sighs in thirty seconds.

She gave him a knowing smile and stood up, taking a moment to stretch. His brain stuttered for a second when she arched her back and rolled her head, showing off an elegant neck, soft (Why did he think soft? He had no idea if it was soft.) hair splayed across it. If she noticed his dumbfounded expression, she didn't comment, simply going to the kitchen and fiddling with a coffee machine.

It spouted out brown liquid into a cup he hadn't even noticed was there. He shouldn't really have been so confused as she fixed it exactly the way he wanted, and when she handed it to him their fingers brushed and he shivered. He really wanted to know about their past.

While he knew it wouldn't work, he tried asking. "What were we - what have we been... To... Each other?" And while he lost his momentum halfway through, he got the question out, so it was a win in his book.

"Real persistent with the questions, aren't ya?" She jokes, but he knows from that she won't tell him. He sighs, and musters up the entirety of the courage stored in his body.

"It was worth a try, before the really drastic measures, y'know?" He sets down the coffee, and somehow he can almost feel weight behind him, like millions of other San's echoing his actions. Considering the revelations of the past few hours, he wouldn't be surprised if that's exactly what it was. Whatever it was, it meant he wasn't quivering, and for that he was thankful.

With a renewed sense of determination, he took a step towards her. And another. He was shorter, much to his dismay, and he had to slide his fingers through her hair and gently tug to reach.

But she complied easily, leaning down and tilting her head in a way that made him think they had done this before. Very gently, he brushed his teeth against her lips, painfully aware of his shortcomings in the whole kissing department.

To his delight, she took up the slack, firmly pressing her lips to his teeth. But she wasn't done yet, her lips moved from his teeth to his forehead, brushing the bone tenderly. Even after that, she continued, peppering his face with kisses, trailing over every available inch of bone she could get to.

He simply clenched his hands in her sweater, utter amazement flooding through him. He had been well prepared for rejection, but this, he hadn't been prepared in the slightest for _this_.

Really, he should've been. Despite all his insecurities he could see that logically, this was the most likely outcome.

She slumped down onto her knees, the action making her considerably shorter than him, and buried her face into his chest. Her arms clutched tightly around him, and only when he felt dampness touch his ribcage did he realize she was crying.

"Wha-?" He choked out, as that really hadn't been in any outcome he'd gone over and it certainly contradicted with her other actions

"I just... You... I'm so happy you did that." She sighed into him, and he ran his phalanges through her hair in the hopes it would comfort her.

He was happy his theory had been confirmed. They had been lovers, and it seemed like she still wanted to be, and he was definitely okay with that decision.

But he hadn't really thought of where to go from there, and vaguely he marked that down as a character flaw. Life doesn't just end once you reach your results, you have to have a plan for afterwards.

...And for some reason that idle train of thought seemed very important.

She had, at some point, detached herself from him and was now smiling gently, looking quite pleased about life.

"Well, you certainly don't look bonely anymore." He winked at her, feeling a light fluttering in his ribcage.

"That was absolutely horrible." She states, before busting up laughing.

He felt peaceful, and right, and like everything would be okay. Even if he had just been sucked into something that was way over his head and out of his gasp; there was a girl here, and she liked him, she liked him so much she cried when he kissed her.

Happiness tears, of course.

"I'm going to get myself some coffee now, okay?" She said, and he vaguely noticed bags under her eyes and wondered why she didn't sleep enough either.

And before he knew it, she had her coffee and he had his and they were just chatting with the kind of chemistry he'd never really had with anyone. She laughed at all his stupid puns, even as she pointed them out as such.

He felt giddy, and stupid, and when she reached across the table during a lull in conversation to intertwine her fingers with his, he blushed so hard he was sure he'd explode.

The night was great, and perfect, and when it's time for them to go to sleep she gazes at him from under her eyelashes and asks if they could sleep together.

At his blushing and spluttering face she laughs. "No, no not like that you perverted bag of bones."

He sighs, half in relief and maybe-possibly-probably half in disappointment. She leads him to her room, it's equally as empty as the rest of her house. A thought strikes him as she rummages in her drawers, and he voices it as there's really no reason not to.

"Do you live alone?"

She stops abruptly, but doesn't turn to face him. "Yeah... Yeah, I do." She sounds a bit melancholy, and he regrets asking the question. But then she's throwing boxers and a t-shirt at him, and smiling as they land over his face.

She dashes to the bathroom, obviously trying to beat him there even though he wouldn't even want to change first; her tongue makes an appearance and then the door is shut.

She takes longer than he think she really should, but what does he know. He just sits on her bed and gazes around, taking in the desolation that was her room. It had a bed, an admittedly fancy looking TV hung on the wall, and that was all.

Well, the bed had covers and pillows and other such things. They were all somewhere on the scale of red to black, and he vaguely thought that it didn't really suit her, not at all.

She came out in a purple t-shirt and dark blue pajama pants, and ushered him in as though he wasn't already planning on it. Her bathroom was surprisingly girly, with a purple-pink color scheme going on that didn't match her room in the slightest.

He changed quickly, eager to get back to the first girl who was actually showing a real romantic interest in him. That excitement changed to nervousness when he saw the she was already under the covers, facing away from him.

Should he just crawl in?

Thankfully, after a moment of deliberation she turned over and smiled at him. As he walked over, she lifted the covers up and he took the invitation happily.

She slid over to him, wrapping her arms around him and tangling her legs up in his. "Haha, I'm um, pretty _bone_ -hard. You don't really have to cuddle up with me, it won't get under my skin."

She giggles, but only squishes him closer to her. A few firm kisses are planted on his sternum and collarbone, and only then does he slowly wrap his arms around her. He's rewarded with a sleepy smile, and he sighs in contentment.

* * *

He wakes from a thankfully dreamless sleep to the sound of glass breaking. Frisk has awoken too, help can tell from the lonely feeling of he spot by him, but the difference is she's jumped out of bed and is... Rolling around on the ground?

He jerks up, and sees in the darkness that she is actually rolling around with someone...? He's far too tired to even begin to comprehend anything at at, until the threatening gleam of a knife wakes him right the fuck up.

Suddenly the muffled grunting and jerky movements coalesce in his mind, dragging him to the realization that Frisk was fighting someone. with a knife? Her knife? _Their knife?_

Sadly, this realization came just a moment too late, and red eyes were filling his vision and a knife was uncomfortably pressed up against his vertebrae.

And perhaps the most stunning realization was that it was Frisk pressing a knife to his throat. Just... Different.

Her smile curled at the corners like he'd never seen, and insanity gleamed in the blood of her eyes, different than Frisk's warm amber.

"Who... Who're you?" He chokes out, careful not to move his throat too much.

"Does it matter? You're about to d-AGHHHH!" She shrieks as she's pulled off of him, losing the grip on her knife. It clatters on his bones, the sound nothing compared to the sick squelching he hears next. When he looks up, there's Frisk and there's other Frisk, and there's red liquid and Frisk is grimacing and other Frisk is gurgling and his mind is just not comprehending.

"Look away." His gaze snaps to Frisk, his Frisk, and he ignores that there is a blood splatter right below her left eye. She gives him a sad smile as his gaze remains locked on her face. "The stars are simply gorgeous tonight, aren't they?"

His eyes flicker to the window, and it's true, the stars are gorgeous.

"Good job, could you do me a favor and describe them to me? I can't see very well from over here." He recognizes it as a ploy to keep him staring out the window instead of at whatever was happening, but he takes it gladly. Of all the things that could happen in the middle of the first night he got to sleep with Frisk, _sans_ nightmares. (Now is not the time for puns, but it seems he hasn't gotten the memo)

"Well, there's this one really bright star. It's really pretty, and it's close to the moon, which is just a little sliver. I mean, the rest of it's still there, it's just the earths shadow, but the only glowing part is the little sliver." The little sliver is also the only source of light for the room, and he is suddenly very grateful it is so small.

The bed is shifting as he's talking, and there's rustling and soft assurances for him to continue. He does, staring out into the night sky, and eventually she says it's okay to look back. The blood under her eye is gone, but there's a rusty stain there and he wonders if it will ever go away.

"Who was that?" He croaks, because if she says Frisk, if she says _me_ , he doesn't even know what to do.

"Chara." She says softly. He resulting pain makes him feel like he'll die, and it is not better.

* * *

a/N: Super sorry this took so long, and I'm also very sorry its shorter than normal! I'll try to get the next one out a lot faster, most of the time spent with this was drastically reshaping the storyline. This story started out as a simple love story between them because AW and there just aren't enough of those but wow its going places I never imagined. TIME TRAVEL WASN'T EVEN GONNA BE A THING IN THE BEGINNING. I guess I understand why theres so few simple love stories between them, its so easy for it to just run away from you into the land of complications. Anyway, constructive crits will always and forever be welcome, and so will compliments! Heck, even flames, idec, you do you


	4. Emotional issues much?

He knows he knows he knows _he knows he knows heknowsheknows_ _ **heknowsheknowsheknows**_

That he is dreaming.

He understands that the blood in front of him, the body in front of him, the knife in front of him ISNOTREAL. Its not, its fake, it's his mind working against him, just like always just like every nightmare just like every _night._

ITS NOT REAL.

As he sees Frisk's lifeless body slump for what seems like the billionth time, as he sees Papyrus's dust coat her, as he sees the demon that wears Frisk's face smear the dust and blood over her, as he sees it come towards him-

It doesn't help. It isn't real and that doesn't help.

It isn't real and it doesn't help and he can't wake up and it isn't real and hecan' _twake_ _ **up.**_

And eternities pass. Just him and the demon, and whoever it decides to kill or torture or maim this time around.

And then there is something wet touching his face and he's screaming and screaming and its dark and he's clawing at his face.

And then it's white and it's too white and it's been dark for so long why is it so bright, so so so bright.

But slowly everything is coming into focus, and its actually familiar. It's bright, but it's familiar because it's Alphys's house. He heaves out a gust of air in relief, before swinging his legs off the side.

And that's when he sees Frisk. And he starts crying.

She's over in a second, holding him and whispering in his ear but he can't hear her over the mantra of, "It's in you. It's in you. The demon. The demon, it's in you. It's inside you. The demon." For a second he wonders where it's coming from, but its slipping through his teeth.

She pulls back after a while, a long sigh leaving her lips. "She's not a demon-" She stops at his face, a stricken face because he's so so so sure the demon killed everyone, killed his brother, _used_ Frisk. "Her name is Chara-" He stops breathing when she says it, but this time she keeps going, "And the one inside me is not a demon."

"It's _KILLED PEOPLE_!" He screams. She flinches away and he lowers his voice. "It's _killed_ my brother."

He's crying, but when she reaches for him he flinches away. He's sure she looks hurt, rejected, betrayed, but he doesn't chance a glance at her face to find out.

"Not... Not this one. There's a lot of Chara's, and all of them are messed up. But this one is a good person, and y'know, I think somewhere inside them, they all are." She says softly, and he just CAN'T TAKE IT.

"SHE HELD A KNIFE TO MY THROAT. SHE ISN'T A GOOD PERSON, _ANYWHERE."_ And while he didn't care all that much about his well-being, he knew she did. It was a dirty trick, a desperate one, and it backfires when he looks up into her sad, sad eyes and there's a tint of red.

He's gone before he understands why, slipping effortlessly into a shortcut and popping out a couple hundred miles away, in a lonely and isolated forest.

He takes a deep breath in, out. In, out. And then he starts sobbing, ugly blue tears rolling down his face to stain his clothes.

He justified it easily, because really, who wouldn't cry when they just learned a murderer psychopath lives inside your very very new-found girlfriend.

One his eye sockets run dry, he sighs and begins the arduous process of sorting through the memories that had taken up residence inside his cranium. He winced at memories of dust, and more dust, and Frisk - looking not at all like Frisk - covered in it. He winces more at splashes of blood, and mercy that was yanked away (And he questions why they ever took it, and he questions why he ever tried) And he winces at the memories of an Underground (Underground?) so empty his voice could echo all the way through.

But at the same time these horrifying memories are ripping holes in his soul, others are sewing them shut. Memories of anime marathons and late night kisses, the way Frisk's eye glitter in the afternoon light, the way their voice warbles when they just barely wake up. Papyrus entering cooking school, and Papyrus entering another cooking school, and then Papyrus entering the cooking school that would actually remain intact throughout his education.

But none of it was real, because none of it had actually happened this time. All these universes existed, and now they... didn't? Because right now, if he talked to Papyrus about cooking school it would simply end in confusion. If he tried to explain the dust, _the dust the coating choking dust_ to anyone it would end in much worse than confusion.

These things hadn't happened.

Yet they felt so real, bouncing around in his skull, that he couldn't quite convince himself.

It takes a long time for him to be okay – and even then it wasn't actually ' _okay'_ it was ' _terrible noises and liquids have stopped leaving his body.'_

But he supposed that it passed as okay, and even if it didn't he was sure to have to deal with a distraught Papyrus when he got home, and the longer he put it off the worse it would be.

He wasn't quite surprised to hear sobbing when he popped into his room, though he was substantially more surprised to hear female sobbing. Frisk is sitting on his bed, pitifully curled in a burrito.

"You left." She sobs accusingly. She wasn't facing him, and he was left to wonder exactly how she had known he was there. Even as it puzzled him, it was nice to get a glimpse of the Frisk who knew what she was doing and had the world all figured out.

"I did." Really, he should've said more than that, but at this point he was so far in over his head all normal functions, like communication, had been pushed away in favor of not freaking the fuck out.

He doesn't poof somewhere else, to his credit, but he also doesn't make any move towards the burrito of sadness still sobbing on his bed.

He did like Frisk. He really did, but he didn't feel comfortable. With anything. At all.

So he sat there and waited for the crying girl to initiate conversation, and it didn't increase his self-loathing at all, nope, not even a little.

"Go tell Pap you're home. He's been worried." Somehow, her voice is clear and cognizant; full of good ideas to boot. Not just because it presented an escape.

Sadly, despite Papyrus's need to make sure he was really, truly, actually okay, it couldn't last forever. And so he found himself pausing outside his own door in his own house, filled with trepidation.

He walks in, because there's no way but forward. To his relief, Frisk is no longer crying.

She pats the bed next to her. His brain stutters to an uneven halt, leaving him motionless even as she observes him.

He liked her. He really did.

"Look," She sounded exasperated. "Just sit somewhere, okay? We're going to be talking for a while."

He closed the door softly and slid down it, coming to rest on the floor. She looked at him as though _he_ was the one with a demon in his body that sometimes took it over and tried to murder his... significant other?

She shook her head, and he banished the insidious thought that she was banishing voices that weren't her own. Her eyes were analytical once they turned on him, and so was her tone, when she deigned to use it. "What do you remember?"

He tried to corral the memories, sort them into easy-to-articulate piles, but so any of them were incomplete. It was hard to make them flow in any way, especially chronologically, because as far as he could tell they overlapped, some seemed to be the same scenario played out different ways, and others he had no grasp on the time or place it occurred.

"Lots." He finally said. The look on her face told him it wasn't enough. "I remember... I remember the Underground. But I also don't. The name is stuck in my head, and I can connect it to all these echoing caverns and golden flowers but I don't really understand?"

She grimaces, as though this is the hard part. "You seem to have a base understanding... So you _shouldn't_ pass out this time, but its a possibility and I just want you to be prepared." He nodded. "The underground was... The underground was where everything started."

She spent the better part of an hour relaying the story of the Monster-Human war, the tragedy that was the royal children, and how she had fallen as the seventh human soul. He winced at her recount of Chara guiding her through the underground with silly quips and bad feelings. He didn't remember greeting her with a whoopy cushion. He didn't remember taking her out for dinner. Didn't remember Toriel. He didn't remember judging her – didn't even remember how to judge people, what that even consisted of, but when he asks her she seems just as puzzled. He didn't remember being freed, didn't remember the sun or stars.

As his life was recounted to him, all he could feel like was an outsider.

When she's done she flops down on the bed as though it actually took a lot out of her to recount the tale. It might've. It certainly was long, but it certainly didn't answer many questions.

He decided to voice this concern, "Okay, that's great and all, but why was Chara possessing a different you _here?"_

She turns to face him, and its something close to anxiety in her eyes when she questions, "You don't remember?"

He grimaces. "To tell you the truth, I don't remember... Well, any of that. I remember," He pauses, uncertain. There is no way for him to know, his eyes locked firmly on the floor, but he thinks her eyes might've flashed red for a second. A deep breath convinces him to continue, "I remember the underground being empty. I remember red eyes and dust... God, do you even know how much dust there was? It was..." He trails off, feeling the rising pound of anxiety clawing through his bones.

"You... You don't remember any of the good stuff? The final reset? The true end?" He looks up at her, and his expression must have said enough. Her voice cracks desperately on the last word, _"Me?"_

He shakes his head, because what else could he do?

"Fuck!" She hisses out; he tenses as her limbs jerk and twitch as is possessed. "FUCK!" It sounds like two voices at once, hissing and screaming and he doesn't think he has ever been more scared.

All he can do is press himself to the door as she cusses, her voice screeching through the air. Another voice, somewhere is whispering.

 _Stay Determined Stay Determined Stay Determined_

He gasps as this start to fall, as his bed breaks and Frisk is sent sprawling away from it, still cussing. Its intermixed with screams now, and hisses.

Outside, trees are falling and people are screaming and he can't help but wonder exactly how one small girl could be doing... _this._

The voice is still whispering, more urgently, and its obvious Frisk can hear it too, as now every 'Stay determined' was matched with an equally incessant 'NO!'.

The floor under them breaks with a sickening _crack_ , and he finds himself helplessly sliding towards the fissure that's opened up in his own home. Frantically he wonders where Papyrus is, if he'll be okay, if anything would be okay in the wake of whatever he had caused.

He claws his bony fingers into the floor, trying desperately for some grasp as dirty socks slide past him. His never-used treadmill had already been claimed, and it didn't help the situation at all that he still hadn't heard it hit the ground.

The mantra of stay determined was increasing in volume, yelling over the sound of the earth being literally ripped open. Frisk was having what could kindly be described as a seizure, though the side of the house she was on was significantly less tilted than the side he was on, so she hadn't quite fallen into the void. The only window he could see out of was bent at an unreasonable angle, meaning that the only thing he could see through it was sky. This was more informative than he thought it would be though, as through said window he could see clouds being... sucked? Towards the ground.

That was about when he gave up any hope for survival. His feet already dangled over the void, and as much as carving long lines into his floor was slowing him down, there was no real hope of stopping.

A wrenching creak further illustrated this point by making the floor equivalent to what the wall _should have been_ , effectively throwing him off into the void.

While falling, he caught a glimpse of Papyrus, in the kitchen, cooking of all things. Figured that in the end of the world, his brother would still be making spaghetti.

He fell for what seemed like forever. Maybe it was longer than that, time has a way of not existing in complete and utter darkness.

And then, all at once, in his brain and vision, and his hearing and instincts and taste, he could understand.

RESET.

* * *

Next chapter will be in Frisks POV and will explain a lot, I promise. until then, toodle loo fair readers.


	5. That one time all the bad stuff happened

_**TRIGGER WARNING:**_ __Drug use, death and stuff. also cussing.

* * *

Frisk didn't cry. Except when she did, which as it turns out, was a lot of the time.

"Shut up Chara." Her voice is absorbed eerily by the darkness around us. I can't say I care much about the command, we both know narration is kinda my schtick. I commend how clear it came out through her blubbering sobs though.

"Shut _up_ Chara." This one carries more weight, but its the weight of a small, sobbing girl with fat tears rolling down her cheeks. In other words, not much.

As much as I expected a reply to that one, she just continues crying, glistening saline droplets not so much absorbed by but lost to the darkness around us. The void is pleasant, if you enjoy absolute nothingness. I'm sure its far less pleasant with no escape and no company, but considering I have both, it's a welcomed reprieve from the chaos of the world. Or, y'know, the worlds.

"You really should've stayed determined. Tried harder. That was the closest we've gotten to... well, anything. It might've worked." My voice feels wrong in my throat; it's very rare that I talk. Why should I, when my thoughts are open to the only one who could hear me anyway? But sometimes it seems prudent, _important_ to verbalize.

And it means I'm harder to ignore.

 _Try me._

It's fierce, strong, _determined._ The thought that comes to me from the pitiful ( _Fuck you!)_ ball of sadness in front of me gives hope to my soul that we might yet leave this place within the next millenia.

 _We've never spent a millenia here you fuck._

I shrug, unperturbed by the insult. "Close enough." It really was, with how much she liked to mope in absolute darkness. With no way to tell time, no markings or sun or moon or stars, it was impossible to tell how long passed as we lay in the dark. It could've been multiple millenia, for all we know.

 _But it's not_

She hisses at me, even as her mouth is occupied with sobs. Mental connections are useful like that.

"You know, you could've just not reset the world?" I provide as a counterpart to her sobs.

 _He didn't remember anything important!_ She pauses for a second, and the next sob wracks her body so hard it looks like the ugly when I try to take over. _...Or good._ She finishes. I internally sigh at how emotional and impulsive Frisk can be, though internalizing does absolutely nothing to hide it from her.

 _He was the closest though!_ _He remembered some things! He could've remembered more!_ I switch back to non-verbalizing for this argument. It's quite a bit easier, if nothing else. _The magic was the same color and everything!_ The frickin gay-ass ice cream test proved that much.

She sniffles. _I thought it was clever._

I deign to not respond to her, considering she didn't respond to ANY of the important parts of what I said. Or anything I said, however mentally.

Her sobs subside, eventually. It's a long, tedious process, made much more aggravating by the void that didn't _actually_ exist around us. Human minds are a wee bit too fragile to understand nothingness though, so it's black because that's the closest reality comes.

It takes even longer for her heart to still, but after a long time with only the silence and the darkness, she turns to me. "I'm ready."

It's a nice, if ineffective warning. It's also the only warning I get before she's all business, focusing her strange, unnatural power. I watch as she concentrates, marvel at the red floating heart that appears from her chest. And, just like every time, I shiver as it elongates into countless points, shooting through the void to embed themselves in unseen universes. Her body convulses as her soul is stretched, but I have to wait in agonizing limbo before I can play my part. She's suspended, almost like she's hanging from the heart that's her entire essence, but that doesn't mean her arms are still. Her mouth is drawn open in a silent scream, and I thank everything that it's just that, silent. She stills, eventually, red lines protruding from her soul likes thousands of skylights. They shift fluidly, brighten and darken, hues intermingling in a kind of lovely light show. I reach out, grab one of the dimmer ones at random; eager to have this be done with. We had long ago learned bright DID NOT mean better.

Not that anything did. It was complete and utter randomness, and I'm always left with the decision.

But she's never blamed me for which one I picked, and I hope that this won't be the first time.

The one I touched widens, the other links being shoved away by its expansion. I hold my breath for absolutely no reason as it engulfs me, and then everything goes dark.

* * *

It's aggravated groaning that drags me to consciousness. While that is not my preferred sound to wake up to, it becomes so much worse once I'm conscious enough to understand what's going on.

Aches stream through the mental connection, and it's Frisk groaning so horribly; for good reason. Her entire body burns. Generally she throttles most of our connection when she's in this much pain, but I can tell she's not quite all there yet. So I'm left with secondhand pain that ignite other, more visceral pains within me. Her body twitches and shudders as she sits up from the bare mattress she'd been strewn across, old and new scars stretching over brittle bones. She thrusts her face into her hands, I can feel the sharp twinge as she bites her thumbs.

Small scars dot the lines of her arms, little fairy trails leading all the way under a huge shirt that is all she has covering her. Her body is wracked with a tremor, and the scene is only made worse by the blood that has started dribbling down her arms; she'd bitten her thumb far too hard.

When she looks at me, her gaze is desperate. "Water." Is all she croaks, and I wish, I wish I wishIwish I had a corporeal body.

I don't.

Luckily, there's water in the room we woke up in, sitting in plastic water bottles. I do my best to guide her to one, the closest one; just a few feet from the bed.

She makes it, but when her thin (So, so thin I've nevereverever seen her so thin) body reaches the bottle, it collapses on the ground. She growls, obviously aggravated at this Frisk.

Our counterparts were almost never in a good place when we took them over, but this was definitely in the bottom ten.

I start sifting through the memories in the head, grimacing when I find the vast majority of them hazed with drugs. The worst part is clear after a moment; memories of Sans are few, ancient, and hazy.

I'm just about to tell Frisk the bad news when she spit-takes, the liquid spraying right through me.

"Vodka." Is all she rasps, before grasping at another water bottle. She unscrews this one with a frantic kind of intensity, sniffs it, and in apparent anger at what is contains, chucks it at the wall. The arc of liquid that splatters on the filthy floor most likely does more to clean it than anything else, and the empty plastic bottle hits the wall with an extremely unsatisfying _crk._ I turn my attention back to where it seems she's _finally_ found water.

She wipes her mouth with her hand when she's done chugging it all, leaving us both feeling marginally better. "Musty" She describes with a sneer, but water is water.

I'm almost tempted to suggest resetting, but _I_ had been the one to demand we never give up on a universe, not until we're sure it won't help us.

So instead, I contemplate our goals.

Number one was always to find Sans. He came first, had always come first. Not even just because we loved him; he was the only other one there when it all went to shit. The only one who has any hope of helping us fix this.

Number two was less fixed. Gather information. Search for anomalies. Try to complete the puzzle, try to figure out a way to take it all back.

And number three was to stay alive. While that may seem a bit redundant, as it is generally every organism's goal to stay alive, Frisk always seemed to have a harder time of it than most. The crazed Chara-possessed Frisk's who also roam the multiverse certainly don't help, but quite a lot of it can be blamed on the horrendously unlucky life she leads.

It wasn't a problem, at one point. But now, every death means a new universe, the old one lost forever. Every death is more stress upon the already cracking framework of the realities, and while I'm impressed it has held out this long, I have doubts we'll continue to be so lucky.

And the ever present question of what comes after?

There was no more DETERMINATION, no way to SAVE. No one left to SAVE. Just a science experiment with the right intentions and the wrong execution, and when it causes the entire multiverse to fail and crumble into so much dust, where will we be left?

An eternity in the void?

The sweet release of a death too long lost?

Or are there more consequences of her ambitions, more prices to pay?

Frisk is dressed by the time I'm done with my depressing thoughts. Every move makes her wince, and I know that withdrawals will come soon if she refuses to carry on the path this Frisk had chosen.

She will refuse, of course. A clear head is important, the fuzzy, useless memories shoved in our skulls prove as much.

I steel myself for a bumpy ride.

* * *

It was dark. That was about all the information Sans pseudo-brain gave him. There wasn't an up or down, no left or right. No ground on to which he could place his feet, which didn't really matter as he was entirely sure he no longer had feet. There wasn't anywhere to walk anyway, so it was all a moot point.

So with nothing to do but contemplate with his questionably existent brain, he did just that. A lot of it was focused on Frisk, because when a girl falls into your life, shows interest in you in a way no one ever had before, Murders her doppelganger, makes you remember things that DIDN'T HAPPEN and then brings on the _apocalypse?_

Yeah, you tend to have nothing else on your mind for a while.

Sadly, the contemplation of this strange turn of events got him absolutely nowhere, for the sole reason that NOTHING MADE SENSE.

He had tried to connect things, but well... At one point he had lived in a cave underground connects to crazed twins of his (ex?) girlfriend _how?_

There was a lot he was missing.

And now there was no one and nothing to fill in the gaps, just darkness and the vague notion he didn't actually exist.

So he did the only thing his non-corporeal existence could. He _thought_. And he thought _hard._

First, it was a pun. 'What's a skeleton's favorite instrument?' The answer, however, was not provided for him and the xylo _bone_ wasn't bringing on any revelations, so he thought. Saxo _bone?_ Also nada, but really, why would answering a pun his mind spat at him do any good?

He was about to turn his attentions to more prudent endeavors when it came to him. _Trombone_. No doctoring required, just trombone. Along with this revelation came vague memories of how to play the trombone, and also the realization that yes, he chose to play a certain instrument entirely for the comedic value.

Well then.

He wasn't quite sure how to progress from there, as there wasn't exactly a questionably existent trombone for his questionably existent self to play.

But thinking about trombones for too long couldn't be good, as his highly childish side decided it was time to come out and play. _Trombone... Trombone... TROMBONER._

And well, perhaps that was exactly what he needed because tromboner ensued an onslaught of... less than appropriate memories. Mostly of a half naked Frisk shoving his face away as he repeatedly said it, which was a very odd memory that promoted horribly conflicting feelings.

One of which was a horrible feeling of loss. Because yeah, she kinda destroyed his world and that sucked like fuck, but in other ways she was just the most perfect and... well...

He was almost entirely sure he didn't really exist anymore. And even if he did, he was _entirely_ sure he didn't exist in the same realm as Frisk. Which meant the love of his multiple lives was out of his reach, just as he was remembering some of their shared life.

Which led him to another realization, this one sitting unpleasantly in his doubly non-existent gut. He wasn't exactly anything here, just a... consciousness. There was, as far as he could tell, nothing else here. There was, also as far as he could tell, no reason or way for him to die.

Which meant, there was a likely probability he would float here for eternity, with nothing to use as any sort of a distraction.

It was... horrifying. Incomprehensible. Uncomfortable and incessant and upsetting in a way that was overwhelmingly despondent.

But the realization was once of resignation, of untold sadness that was quickly stored somewhere to lay in wait for the moment he was weak enough. It was something to scream and cry about later, for the simple fact that later was not now and he was not obligated to deal with anything in this void.

* * *

Despite my protests, Frisk had gone ahead and quit cold turkey. Really, we were old enough by now to understand quitting hardcore drugs cold turkey never ended well but... Frisk was determined to a fault.

But all that determination couldn't keep her alive.

I don't watch as she dies this time, convulsing in fits on a dirty carpet. I look out the dirty window onto the decrepit street below and I wish for Sans.

* * *

It was through an odd train of thought that he came upon the realization. It wasn't anything even relevant to his situation, just a flight of fancy his brain had taken involving taste and the apparent lack of it here.

Or more specifically, the realization he would never eat chocolate again. Right then, he should've known something was wrong. While chocolate wasn't _bad_ per say, it certainly wasn't in his top ten favorite foods, and it most definitely wasn't the one he would miss most. That honorable title went to ketchup... so it really was a red flag he was thinking so idly about chocolate.

But he hadn't noticed, not until he was reminiscing on tastes of the sweet throughout his life, trying to relive the taste for reasons that when he looked back on, were utterly unclear.

It came easily, as though it had always been in his brain, just waiting for him to display a passing interest.

Frisk, her eyes **red** ; chocolate smudged on her face. In real life, his non-existent heart attempted mutiny. In the memory, he made his way over to her. He tilted her head up, smiled. Warm feelings coursed through him as her defiant stare met his.

"So, were you even aiming for your mouth?" He joked, and the warm tone in his voice twisted the perceptions in Sans's mind.

"Frisk was fighting me." Feelings of endearment at her pout coursed through him secondhand, and it was too hard to deceive himself into thinking they were only for Frisk. "You know how she feels about chocolate."

The memory Sans chuckled like yes, he definitely knew how Frisk felt about chocolate, and Sans felt the strangest pang of jealousy at his own ignorance of how Frisk felt about chocolate.

"Well, seeing as you actually got chocolate this time... I think we should celebrate the _cococ_ casion."

"That was horrible. Absolutely fucking terrible, get out of my life." She said, but she was giggling as he started licking the chocolate from her face, revealing teeth far sharper than Frisk had. As he loomed farther and farther over her, Sans had to admit to an uncomfortable truth.

At one point, he had loved the demon.

And of course, because the universe was constantly, unceasingly trying to make his life shit, everything went wrong before he could even attempt to reconcile with that strange revelation.

* * *

A/N: Well, I hope this answers some questions... and raises even more. To tell you guys the truth, the responses I've gotten on this story have been absolutely wonderful. I really appreciate all your reviews, but I have some difficulties replying to them all because I'm constantly anxious/lazy/depressed/stressed and also a sack of shit. But really, I appreciate all of you so much and I hope you like this story and my updates are enough thanks 3 Reviews really motivate me like nothing else. Constructive criticism is also loved and held close to the heart. Thank you all!


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